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Has anyone else noticed that since the death of HBO’s Sex and the City, any premium cable channel original series that centers on women airs on Showtime?

Entourage, which kicked off its sixth season last night with “Drive,” seems to be a microcosm of this trend. Don’t get me wrong, I’ve loved Entourage since its premiere for its refusal to take itself too seriously as it satirizes an industry known mostly for taking itself too seriously. The characters are just outrageous enough to be believable, creating the kind of entertainment that makes you shake your head at the state of the world while secretly rooting against a remedy that would make this kind of comedy impossible. I always buy the seasons when they’re released on DVD, and once that first DVD goes in the player, I am dead to the world until I’ve finished the season.

It was actually season five before I started to marvel at how disposable women really are on this series. Maybe I didn’t notice because I was too busy marveling at how Entourage’s writers have done what most series have found impossible: taken a concept that originated in the naïveté of kids that hit it big and allowed them to grow without killing the comedy. I mean, come on, do you really think that Gossip Girl is going to survive graduation?

But this growth seems very resistent to women, who have always been little more than disposable arm candy for the boys. In the season five finale, writers made a lot of Vince (Adrian Grenier) reconnecting with his childhood sweetheart Kara (Mercedes Masöhn), but she now appears to have been a fixture as temporary as Vince’s period of slumming it in Queens.

On the contrary, what allows the show to progress is its return to an unapologetic celebration of dysfunctional fraternity where none of the boys: Vince, E (Kevin Connolly), Drama (Kevin Dillon), Turtle (Jerry Ferrara), and even the married-with-children super-agent Ari (Jeremy Piven) want to progress beyond Neverland. And women—-with the exception of the appropriately billed Mrs. Ari (Perrey Reeves) who gets to tag along in a Wendy-like fashion—-rock the fairy-tale boat of lost boys far too much.



I mean, come on. They still dress alike.

I don’t take the terminal relegation of promising women co-stars like Emily (Samaire Armstrong), Sloan (Emmanuelle Chriqui), Shauna (Debi Mazar) and even Ari’s partner Barbara Miller (Beverly D’Angelo) as misogyny on the part of the show’s creators-—they’ve proven that they’re far too smart for such transparent commentary. Instead, I see a much more subtle comment on the underbelly of Hollywood made by the story’s arc—-the only way it can continue is through a permanent miring in dysfunction that exposes Hollywood’s lingering sexism along the way.

So even though Weeds, the now cancelled L Word, and Nurse Jackie, the brand-new show from longtime HBO property Edie Falco of Sopranos fame all live at Showtime, I wouldn’t say that HBO quit talking about women Sarah Jessica Parker jumped ship.

Why, Jada, Why?

OK, I’ll admit it: I completely bought into the hype about HawthoRNe that TNT inserted into their never-ending parade of Law and Order re-runs. I like Mrs. Will Smith. Besides, I reasoned, the wife of a man that thwarted his destiny of Fresh Prince syndication hell to become the most popular movie star alive would surely have learned good judgment in picking projects, if only through osmosis, right?

Did you READ the script, Jada? Maybe next time you should let Will take a peek?

TNT has done very well with the summertime lull, hitting consecutive home runs with The Closer, Saving Grace, and Raising the Bar—nice, easily consumable law dramas with very recognizable female leads that serve as nice capstones for the daytime line-up of Law and Order and Without a Trace endless syndication. I guess that HawthoRNe was similarly meant to draw a viewership from fans of their arsenal of ER re-runs. And on paper, the show brings a lot to the table: Jada is half of one of Hollywood’s least-criticized power couples, the show is only the third hour-long series to cast a black woman as a lead, and it’s not like it’s set in an arena that lacks controversy or important issues. I was psyched for a new heroine of the idiot-box to emerge.

Unfortunately, HawthoRNe reaches ER levels only in the innumerable mistakes in the representation of the medicine, the idiotic portrayals of the inner workings of hospitals, and, given these insurmountable technical errors, how ridiculously seriously the shows take themselves.

Jada has said that the project speaks to her because her mother was a nurse. Oh yeah? What does SHE think about the show?

You can almost hear here rationalizations, can’t you? Hey, TNT has provided a productive home for Kyra Sedgwick and Holly Hunter—two more movie stars that everyone’s heard of and no one can remember what they’ve done! Holly Hunter’s won an OSCAR for God’s sake!

It’s my turn, right?



Right?!

The real kicker is, with summer sending the networks into reality TV autopilot, this show had NOTHING to trip over coming out of the starting gate—except itself. And it managed to do just that as it embarked on a confusing set of fractured story lines—each suggesting that something meaningful is looming on the horizon, but none of them actually advancing enough to make us care. The only thing that’s happened so far is a deepening of everyone’s doubts about healthcare and me beginning to wonder if there might be something more engaging in the summer’s onslaught of D-list celebrity mea culpa shows—maybe Kathy Griffin and Denise Richards ARE victims! Maybe Tori and Dean’s marriage will be the first to break the curse of celebrity couple reality shows!

Even Jada looks bored.

Just because we love Buffy around here...

Click here.

Of course she could shut down the most obsessed over fictional character in recent memory. Duh.

And now for something completely different... but not really...

I don’t usually deal with books here, but Commencement, a first novel by fellow Smith College ’03 alum J. Courtney Sullivan, hit rather close to home.

You can find it here: http://www.amazon.com/Commencement-novel-J-Courtney-Sullivan/dp/0307270742/ref=sr_1_2?ie=UTF8&s=books&qid=1246679278&sr=8-2

And it made the New York Times Book Review (no small feat for a first-time author): http://www.nytimes.com/2009/06/14/books/review/Russo-t.html

I read this book with the same set of emotions that accompany any serious consideration I do of my time at Smith College: very mixed ones. I laughed at Celia and Bree worrying about gaining “the freshman fifty” after seeing the upper class women (for the record, I only gained thirty and lost it all after spending a semester abroad). I fondly remembered the uniquely engaging controversy over changing the student constitution from “she” to “the student” in honor of trans-gender rights. I smiled at April shaving her head in a euphoric moment of celebrating shock value. I frowned at the enduring experience of displacement that haunts all the characters—in their lives at Smith and beyond. I cried (well, almost) at a fall-out scene between the four friends—it reminded me that Smith created both my most supportive and devastatingly critical relationships. And I resented the idea that such a complicated experience could be contained within a book’s covers.

And, like my Smith education, I’d do it again, even with the benefit of hindsight.

The book risks making a spectacle of the most formative experience of my life—and I don’t hate it for it. And, in my book, that makes it worth a read.

Huh?

Another moment of shame here: I've always liked Kelly Clarkson. Don't laugh. She's done more with her American Idol win than anyone but maybe Carrie Underwood, and she didn't have the benefit of going through the established publicity factory the show became in later seasons. She even survived From Justin to Kelly. Perhaps most importantly, she doesn't seem to compromise herself: she didn't starve herself even though everyone told her she was fat, and My December told the world quite clearly that she doesn't do what Clive Davis wants. And I'll even admit: I know the words to "My Life Would Suck Without You."

But come on, did she roll out of bed and meander to the So You Think You Can Dance set in a hung-over stupor for tonight's performance? Remember that scene in Blues Brothers where the band crashes a truck stop bar and spends the night singing "Stand By Your Man" and "Rawhide"? She looked like an extra.

Maybe she thinks that getting in touch with her inner honky tonk bar singer is the next logical step in the war she's apparently waging with her commercial success?

A rocky start... Again...

Sorry I’ve been gone so long! I’ve been waiting for Dollhouse to get better…

And waiting…

And waiting…

In the interim, I watched season one of Buffy for the millionth time. The similarities between it and the beginnings of Dollhouse (which, so far, has survived the Fox guillotine) are striking.

1) The writing privileges “tune-in next time” moments over character development.

OK, a show of hands. Who gives a damn about Echo, Sierra, November or Victor?

Anybody?

ANYbody?

Despite the limitations the title may have imposed, Buffy became a very complicated exploration of human nature—particularly the notion of monstrosity. In season two. Season one was all about largely off-screen hooks: Angel, the Hellmouth, the Master. No where near the LOST quotient of the “where the hell is this going?” factor, but the arc of season one’s story line relied a lot more on a viewership’s desire to see what monster showed up next than any investment in the characters.

I’m currently only watching Dollhouse to see what ridiculously skanky outfit they’re going to put Eliza Dushku in next.

2) Incorrect use of the hunky guy.

Remember how the first few episodes of Buffy had the gorgeous David Boreanaz (as Angel) in thick black eyeliner and a 80’s rocker leather jacket, making him look like an overgrown goth geek?

For whatever reason, Whedon can create dazzling heroines immediately. It takes him a while to figure out what do with the male characters. I had some hope for Dominic (Reed Diamond)—but they stuck him in the attic. Boyd Langton (Harry Lennix) hasn’t quite let go of the stiff military quality of his role from The Matrix movies. That goes double for would-be hero Paul Ballard (Tahmoh Penikett): captains of TV star ships (be they Star Trek or Battlestar Galactica) don’t make good romantic interests.

3) The actors aren’t giving enough. At least, not yet.

Sarah Michelle Gellar spoke in a nasally whine tone for her entire first season as Buffy and made little headway in breaking free from her soap opera background. It was clearly David Boreanaz’s first time with a lot of dialogue: the delivery was forced and his cadence was strange. Giles (Anthony Head), Willow (Alyson Hannigan), and Xander (Nicholas Brendon) all lacked depth. It was quite the awkward cast. But they got better, obviously, particularly David Boreanaz, who admits that he didn’t understand his craft in the early days—and channeled that frustration into his character Angel. Boreanaz definitely came the farthest the fastest (and that’s probably why he’s the only one who can still hold down a job), but the entire cast found their stride somewhere in the middle of season two.

Eliza Dushku (who the hell knew should could sing?) and Dichen Lachman (playing Sierra) have demonstrated that they have some serious acting chops in the numerous hats they’ve had to wear so far in Dollhouse. Unfortunately, their supporting cast is dragging them down. Deep.

Which brings us back to waiting…

I didn’t start watching Buffy until season two, and I’ve often wondered if I would have given the show a chance if I’d tuned in for season one.

Whedon uses the TV medium the way it should be, with direct, enjoyable plotlines that are mostly contained from season to season (something LOST and Heroes could stand to try). Assuming the ADD program directors at Fox are still willing to play, I’m sure that the show will find its way, becoming more than the current costume closet parade.

Hallmark (and shoes!) Be Damned!

Lipstick Jungle certainly came back from the break with a bite (say that three times fast). “Lover’s Leaps,” aired on January 2, 2009, took on relationships (of the meaningful non-one night stand variety) from an angle that other series inspired by a Candace Bushnell novel never quite managed: if the essence of relationships is compromise, where do we factor in the kind of ambition that, if it’s ever to go anywhere, has to be unyielding?

Let’s be clear: I’m really disappointed that Nico (Kim Raver), the most successful one in the bunch, seems to yet again be winding up hitched to an authority figure--the only one she has left, in fact, a very suave Griffin (James Lesure), who runs a multi-billion dollar company but mysteriously has time to babysit Nico when she has a bad reaction to her fertility treatments. We don’t need more media images that women, even highly successful ones, require romantic attachments to male mentors to keep their feet on the ground.

Luckily, “Lover’s Leaps” is about more than office romances and glass ceilings. And it’s even more than American feminism’s elephant in the room: if career advancement comes from wholehearted selfishness (which, let’s face it, it usually does) and relationships succeed through deciding what’s best for a duo, how on earth can you have both? Instead, this episode focuses on the rider that elephant has acquired in the last decade, known as the “two (or more) bodies problem”: in a career playing field that in most cases is continuing to grow wider geographically, how do you stay with “the one”?

The question is asked in the context of the marriage of Wendy (Brooke Shields) and Shane (Paul Blackthorne). The latest drama in the Healy household is the looming offer for Shane, whose career usually takes a backseat to Wendy’s, to join Natasha Bedingfield on a four-month tour of thirty cities. It’s a once in a lifetime opportunity that anyone would regret and resent giving up. And yet it’s going to thrust one-hundred percent of the responsibility to keep the family running on Wendy, who will in turn wind up with plenty of regret and resentment of her own.

I love that the show runs from the Hallmark moment where Shane decides to give up his dreams and pretends that the family always more than compensates for the loss in favor of letting him take his shot. And I love that the writers have set it up that we don’t believe for a second that there isn’t going to be some serious mid-life crisis drama in Shane’s notes from the road. And what I really love is how Wendy making more money than Shane didn’t fix everything in Wendy’s life. Sex and the City upheld the mantra that unbridled consumerism and an unlimited shoe budget would fix any woman’s life, and I for one, am glad that even Candace Bushnell appears to have begun to appreciate multiple layers of conflict.